


Upon Our Skin

by Arae



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Demons, Falling In Love, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-30 14:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13953639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arae/pseuds/Arae
Summary: Sometimes, he gets psalms on his skin, and it makes him wonder how much of a believer his soulmate actually is.Psalm 63:3: “Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.”It appears on his collarbone, inked into his flesh in the most delicate of ways, the ghostly touch of a lover he's never met before. In the early hours of the morning, Marcus gently traces it with his fingers and, for a few forbidden seconds, allows his mind to wander.





	1. Psalm 102:3

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm back with this three-parts fic, something i've always wanted to write, and this particular AU seemed perfect for Tomas and Marcus, so here we are! I'd like to thank the wonderful @milarca for beta reading the whole fic (since english isn’t my first language)! Thanks dear!  
> I hope you enjoy it! :)

**Part I: Psalm 102:3**  
**Do Not Hide Your Face From Me**  
_For my days vanish like smoke; my bones burn like glowing embers._

  
Marcus Keane is twelve years old when he understands what a soulmate is.

It’s a tad late for that, he will learn later, but he did not quite have the easiest childhood. He does have an excuse for not knowing what is, according to the other scrawny boy residing in their bedroom, _the most beautiful gift God has ever made to us._

He’s sitting down on a mattress in what serves as a bedroom that he shares with other boys; a few makeshifts beds pushed up against dirty walls, with sheets which cleanliness is a bit more than questionable. There’s barely any light, apart from a few candles disposed around the room, but Marcus’ eyes have long since gotten used to the darkness.

Marcus is reading one of the few books they’re allowed to read – he’s read this one three times already – and he lifts his head up when he hears the very faint sound of laughter coming from another bed. That’s when he notices the kid who’s writing down on his own arm with a pencil he stole. He must have stolen it, because they’re not allowed to have pencils. Marcus knows this; he’d been lectured about it once, after stealing one so he could draw on his books.

When being asked what he’s doing, the boy tears his gaze away from his own arm to give his friend a smile. “I’m writing to my soulmate!” He grins but he’s whispering, so much that Marcus can barely hear him. It’s like he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him. Marcus frowns.

“Soulmate?”

The boy looks around him, as if he wants to make sure no one else is listening, and motions at Marcus to come closer, which he does. “Yeah, you don’t know what a soulmate is?” Marcus doesn’t feel any judgment in the boy’s words, so he simply shakes his head.

“Your soulmate is the other part of your soul!” the boy exclaims. “When God made us, he split every soul in two. But He didn’t intend for us to be alone, so He gave us something for us to find our soulmate.” Marcus is captivated by the child’s words; he wants to hear more, needs to hear more. He doesn’t know if it’s the truth, or some romanticized version of the truth, but he likes it.

“So this is His gift,” the boy explains as he shows his arm to Marcus, the skin covered in random words. Marcus immediately notices that there are two different handwritings. “Everything you write on your skin will appear on your soulmate’s skin as well! That’s how you know who you were made for. And that’s how you can talk to them!”

He certainly does like the idea of someone made specifically for him, and of being made for someone.

Suddenly, as Marcus’ eyes are still on the boy’s arm, lines start to appear next to the ones that were already drawn. He stares with fascination and amazement as the boy’s soulmate writes back to him, and those lines form a letter, then a word, and, finally, a sentence.

_How are you doing today?_

“Her name is Lou,” the boy says. “She lives in Hawaii! Can you believe it? It seems so far away from us.”

Marcus can only nod. He doesn’t know much about the world, and sometimes he doubts he will ever get to know it. The thought that he could one day explore the world usually only belongs in his dreams.

“I promised her we would find each other and be together.” It almost sounds like a prayer, but the boy seems to believe in this more than anything. He takes hold of the pencil again and starts replying, and Marcus is still watching, unable to look away, captivated by it.

“It’s a secret,” the boy suddenly says, and Marcus seems as confused as he was when he first heard the word soulmate. If soulmates are such a beautiful thing, why would it need to be a secret? “Don’t tell them, please, or they’ll try to take my soulmate away from me.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because for what we’re destined to be, for what they want us to do, we can’t have a soulmate. Our soul belongs to God and God only,” the boy declares, his hand shaking as he finishes writing. “I heard them talking once - about how they would find a way to take our soulmates away from us.”

Marcus doesn’t ask more - he doesn’t need to - and simply goes back to his bed when he hears the sound of approaching footsteps.

A few days later, when he manages to get a pencil himself, Marcus spends almost one hour thinking about what exactly he should write. Is ‘good evening’ too formal? Should he mention his name? It’s scary how much he’s thinking about this, because he wants his first words exchanged with his soulmate to be perfect. Eventually, he decides on something rather simple.

_Hi. My name is Marcus. How are you?_

To his frustration, his skin stays blank, even in the hours that follow.

“Maybe they’re not born yet,” the boy from a few days ago tells him, and Marcus wants to believe that it’s true, because he refuses to think about the possibility that his soulmate doesn’t want to talk to him, or that he might not have one.

His friend – or at least the closest Marcus has ever had to a friend – dies two months after their conversation. Marcus doesn’t really know from what, doesn’t know yet, as he’ll understand when he grows older, but he can guess it has something to do with the thing that lurks in the darkness of the filthy and humid room he’s been brought into a few times. That ugly thing, spitting at him and trying to get its hands on him. But Marcus is stronger than that. He faces the creature who’s cowardly wearing the skin of an innocent being, shouting God’s words at it; the only words that have ever been kind to him.

It works. He’s lacking a lot of the education a common kid would have but, despite that fact, they tell him that God has plans for him - things far greater than any child would accomplish in their lifetime.

Marcus doesn’t really understand, but nods anyway.

 

* * *

 

He’s twenty years old and the rough and unforgiving world has already shaped him. Eight years since he was found by the Church; eight years of facing demons and saving the unfortunate souls that, in a moment of weakness, let them get inside their heads. He doesn’t blame them for doing so; he’s been in delicate situations himself, he’s made mistakes, too. But his mistakes never cost him a soul.

Up until very recently, Marcus was housed by the Church, but things changed the first time he got to wrap a white collar around his neck. He’s independent now; a priest, an exorcist - and he finally feels like he was given a real purpose in life. And yet, Marcus doesn’t realizes how much his collar means ownership.

He used to think he wanted to belong to his soulmate, when he was still young and naive, with the hope that he would one day see a stranger’s words appear on his skin. But they never did, and Marcus soon stopped writing. He often wondered why would his soulmate refuse to talk to him, since they wouldn’t actually know him, so he came to the conclusion that he probably didn’t have one.

It happens more often than people think. Some individuals are born in the wrong century. Some don’t know how to read or write, or both. Some are incapacitated and unable to answer. Others are sick and die young, or, in a more twisted turn of events, are forbidden to write to their soulmate. Or, more tragically, some don’t have a soulmate. The common and most widely accepted theory is that, when the world was created and souls split in two, some parts simply got lost, never made their way to their destination, to a body. Forever lost in a void made from nothingness.

When he sees what it did to his mother, Marcus is almost glad he doesn’t seem to have a soulmate. He remembers spotting his mother writing random things on her arm – remembering to pick up milk – and asking why the words also appeared on his father’s arm. She never replied, and Marcus was left wondering about the reason until he finally learnt about soulmates. Sometimes, he’s convinced he would rather have been kept in the dark about it.

It’s no secret Marcus Keane doesn’t have much faith in soulmates. Some voices start rising behind his back, saying it’s why he mastered the skills of exorcism in so little time, why he’s growing to be a feared figure amongst those combatting the forces of evil.

He has no one to lose, and Marcus firmly believes things are exactly as they should be.

 

* * *

 

Marcus helped two soulmates, once. He met them during a stop in Salt Lake City, and his stay was soon prolonged when he understood that evil had taken root in a small suburban home. A woman was possessed and her girlfriend had begged Marcus to help her. She didn't have to beg, of course - he would have done it anyway - but he remembers the look in her eyes as she thought she was about to lose her soulmate. _The other part of me_ , she told Marcus, while tears were running down her cheeks.

Is this what true love is, Marcus can’t help but ask himself as he’s fastening his collar around his neck, his precious bible never too far away from him.

“My Lord, you are all powerful, you are God, you are Father,” Marcus repeats a few minutes later as he finds himself facing the demon. “We beg you through the intercession and help of the archangels Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, for the deliverance of our brothers and sisters who are enslaved by the evil one. All saints of Heaven, come to our aid.”  
  
The thing inside this woman’s body is tenacious, that’s for sure, but Marcus isn’t impressed by its strength. He’s faced tougher demons before, despite having walked the earth for only two decades.  
  
“Lord, You Who said, ‘I leave you peace, My peace I give you,’ grant that, through the intercession of the Virgin Mary, we may be liberated from every evil spell and enjoy your peace always. In the name of Christ, our Lord. Amen.”  
  
Who is he, to talk about peace? The only peace he’s ever known is the one he feels after completing an exorcism, after saving a soul, saving one of God’s children.  
  
Later, when the exorcism is done, he watches as the woman throws herself in her newly saved girlfriend’s arms, as the two embrace and let the tears fall freely on their cheeks. He stays, at first, because it’s what he thinks he’s supposed to do. But he quickly feels like an intruder, someone who doesn’t belong in this bubble of relief, happiness and love.  
  
The excuse falls from his lips rather easily – something casual about a need to go breathe some fresh air – and he’s out of the bedroom before the two women can even reply.

 

* * *

 

Ten years later and he has no one - no words ever appeared on his skin. Thirty years old, and Marcus’ skin has always been as blank as the canvas of an artist without any inspiration.

He saw some kind of line, once, that seemed to be the beginning of a word, and, for a moment, his soul almost split in two. He was convinced that this was it; his soulmate was making contact with him. He couldn’t explain the jump his heart made. Soulmates weren’t for him; why would he react in such a way at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he had one that actually wanted to be with him?

However, to Marcus’ greatest disappointment or satisfaction, he didn’t know, nothing else appeared on his skin. So he logically came to the conclusion that he himself accidentally made it with a pencil when he was distracted.

The more he thinks about it, the more Marcus is convinced he doesn’t have a soulmate and more importantly, that he doesn’t want to have one. A soulmate doesn’t go well with demons, exorcisms and evil. A soulmate would be a liability, something dangerous that wouldn’t just endanger Marcus’ life, but his soulmate’s life itself. And Marcus definitely doesn’t need an innocent soul being dragged into this grim and gruesome world only a few people are a part of.

Demons still try to take advantage of this, of course.

“You worthless man, you don’t even have a soulmate,” one spits at him one day, its tone harsh and mocking while Marcus can only reply with the words of God. “How could anyone look at you and want you to be their other half? Thirty years old, and you’re already broken.”

Ignoring those words sometimes proves to be more difficult than anticipated, but Marcus usually manages to keep them away from his mind. Most of the time. 

“You’d repulse your soulmate if you had one.”

Later, in the privacy of the crappy motel room he’s managed to rent, Marcus thinks about the words he heard before he took his vows, and it seems like a thousand years ago. This child, assuring him that he had a soulmate, and that he just needed to be patient. Marcus almost laughs.

It seems like God, on the contrary, intended for him to be alone.

 

* * *

 

It happens during an exorcism.

The possessed man is tugging on his bonds, twisting his body in ways that doesn’t seem natural. A man from a small town, living alone in grief since his partner tragically passed away. The sorrow and the isolation certainly turned him into a easy target for a demon, one might say.

Marcus is throwing holy water at the man, whose skin is already showing advanced signs of possession. It’s deteriorating, and it makes Marcus work with a deadly timer, a sword of Damocles swinging above their heads. If he doesn’t hurry, integration will happen, and the man’s soul will be lost. He’s never once lost a soul. It cannot happen now.

Bible verses are falling from his lips and suddenly, he feels a small ticklish sensation on the skin of his left arm. Marcus barely pays attention at first, his mind too focused on the demon to care about trivial things, something that feels like an itch. But the strange sensation doesn’t disappear. Instead, it lingers for more than a few seconds, until it’s gone, and Marcus eventually rolls up his sleeve to check on his arm out of curiosity.

_Hola._

The world stops.

Marcus freezes, his eyes never leaving the word on his skin. The bottle of holy water falls on the ground and spills its content all over the wood flooring, completely forgotten. When he thinks about it, he’s pretty sure he went into shock.

A few seconds later, Marcus is running to the bathroom – the demon completely slipped from his mind – before immediately turning the tap on and putting some water on his arm. He scrubs at it, again and again, until his skin starts to grow red, but it doesn’t disappear. His heart is pounding insanely hard against his chest, like it wants to crawl out of it.

It’s real. This is a real word, from none other than his soulmate.

He stays still for a few minutes, breathing hard, trying to stay composed. After coming back to his senses, Marcus splashes some water over his face, runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. He needs to focus back on the demon, to save this man. He doesn’t have time for this.

When he comes back to the bedroom, the demon is surprisingly calm; its cold, dead eyes following Marcus all across the room. “You look like you saw a ghost.” It grins, like it knows exactly what’s happening – it probably does – and its words are laced with sarcasm and mockery. Marcus has to admit it’s not so far away from the truth.

For years, he has grown to think he doesn’t have a soulmate, or that his soulmate would never write to him. Wouldn’t want him. But he was wrong; he has one. Someone who was made for him and who is now trying to make contact. And it terrifies him.

Despite being in his mid-thirties, Marcus knows he’s not ready for this. Doesn’t even know if he will ever be. 

Later in the evening, when he’s done with the exorcism, more words appear, all in Spanish.

 _¿Cómo estás?_  
  
So it wasn’t a joke, wasn’t some kind of mistake from above. It’s the truth, an unbelievable truth, and Marcus doesn’t know how he should process. For the first time in years, he’s clueless as to what to do.  
  
_¿Como te llamas? Qué edad tienes?_

Marcus’ not that good at Spanish, he’s still learning, but he can easily guess what it says. And God, his soulmate is writing, more and more, and they can’t be stopped. Soon, Marcus’ whole forearm is covered in red ink.

_¿De dónde viene? Soy de México!_

He’s sitting down in his car, watching and feeling as the lines form into words, and Marcus is unable to pick up a pencil and reply. He has thousand of questions, and yet he couldn’t imagine ever asking a single one of them.

A few days later, even more words appear while Marcus is checking in a random motel alongside an empty road. According to a message from Bennett, there’s a family in the nearest town that might need his assistance. And as Marcus is carrying his small bag to the bedroom, he feels the familiar sensation of words appearing on his skin.

_Hello! Bonjour! Hallo! Hej! Olá! Привет!_

It goes on and on until Marcus is pretty damn sure his soulmate has drained all the spoken tongues in the world, maybe even the dead ones. He knows what they must be thinking, perhaps they don’t speak my language? He does, oh, he does, but the problem lays elsewhere.

He doesn’t need a soulmate.

It’s selfish, he knows, but doesn’t he get to be selfish sometimes? Marcus has been alone for his whole life, with God being the only one by his side. He’s devoted his whole life to God, why should he make place for someone he doesn’t know, under the pretext that before they were born, their souls apparently formed only one?

Despite soulmates being a sacred concept, it’s not unusual for priests to refuse any other kind of attachment so they can worship God and God only, so why wouldn’t he get to do the same? He’s not just a priest, but an exorcist. The gentleness of a soulmate isn’t for him.

Nonetheless, he can’t help but be impressed by how much energy his soulmate is putting into this. But it still doesn’t make him want to be involved in this. _It’s not for me_ , Marcus thinks, and his soulmate’s skin stays blank.

 

* * *

 

There are drawings, sometimes.

They’re not that great - his soulmate doesn't seem to be an artist - but they’re trying and Marcus catches himself correcting the small mistakes; _the proportions aren’t quite right here, perhaps if you just–_

He always stops himself before responding, but the itch to do so is a little bit stronger than he would have anticipated.

It’s rather quiet during the following years, except for the occasional random thoughts. Marcus doesn’t really care; he mostly wears long sleeved shirts nowadays anyway. Usually, when he feels the tickling on his skin, he doesn’t even give it a look. But when he does, he’s greeted with words that doesn’t seem to be aimed at him. At least most of the time.

Sometimes, when he does look at his skin, he spots song lyrics, mostly in Spanish. He understands the language well now, but never made an attempt to reply back. His soulmate still tries to talk to him, only to be ignored, and yet they keep going. Marcus wonders if they’re ever going to stop, to give up on him like he would himself have done a long time ago.

As much as he tries to ignore it, he knows when his soulmate is trying to make contact, or simply writing something down on their arm so they won’t forget.

_No olvides el cumpleaños de Olivia el viernes._

Don’t forget Olivia’s birthday on Friday. He doesn’t know who this Olivia is and tries not to care. Usually, it’s rather successful. But sometimes, just sometimes, Marcus wonders. Is this his soulmate’s attempt to awake Marcus’ curiosity? To make him jealous? Or is it simply them just being scared of forgetting to wish a happy birthday to whoever this person is?

The following Friday, as he drives on a lost road somewhere in North Carolina, Marcus can’t help but wonder if his soulmate remembered about Olivia’s birthday. And then, just as quickly as the thought has come, it disappears.

 

* * *

 

 

Marcus is forty-five years old, and that’s when the first sentences in English appear. It’s been a few months since the last time his soulmate wrote anything on their skin, he thinks as he absentmindedly scribbles on his bible that’s already covered in charcoal. _Scribble_ , not defile, as Bennett would say.

As if on cue, he feels the familiar sensation of ink appearing on his skin and checks his arm, only to see what seems to be a new attempt at communicating.

_Do you speak English? Can you understand me?_

He wonders why his soulmate never tried speaking English before. It’s been roughly ten years since the first words appeared on Marcus’ skin, ten years of running away from his soulmate, and it’s only now that they decide to use English to try to make contact. Not that it’s going to make Marcus reply. He didn’t change his mind; Marcus is still firmly convinced he’s not meant to have a soulmate.

_Good morning. I hope you’re having a nice day, wherever you are._

This person visibly refuses to believe they don’t have a soulmate. Marcus admires their tenacity, but he quickly realizes that the lack of efforts on his end is quite equivalent to a lack of soulmate for this person. It’s like they don’t have one.

_Why don’t you want to talk to me?_

The words hit him harder than he would have thought, because he has nothing against this person in particular, really. He just doesn’t want a soulmate. _I’m sorry it had to be you_ , he thinks, _but God didn’t tie you to the good person_. In all the senses of the term. 

It’s not even just about him. Being an exorcist is dangerous, but being the partner of one would be like a death sentence. And he can’t be responsible for the death of an innocent soul.

_Please reply. Por favor._

Marcus tries to look away, but he can’t. The words keep appearing, and they’re like a drug, but a drug that doesn’t feel good, not even for a few seconds. It’s like he immediately feels the undesirable effects of a drug that’s been inserted into his veins without his consent.

_Please._

And the more this person writes, the more Marcus tries to forget about them.

_I don’t want to be alone._

 

* * *

 

Years pass, and he still gets some words. They’re mostly random thoughts nowadays; it seems like his soulmate isn’t very interested in communicating with him anymore. Perhaps they just came to the conclusion that they didn’t have any soulmate? That certainly would be understandable. Yet, they keep writing.

Sometimes, he gets psalms on his skin, and it makes him wonder how much of a believer his soulmate actually is.

_Psalm 63:3: “Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.”_

It appears on his collarbone, inked into his flesh in the most delicate of ways, the ghostly touch of a lover he's never met before. In the early hours of the morning, Marcus gently traces it with his fingers and, for a few forbidden seconds, allows his mind to wander. 

But then, too quickly, he's sent back to the painful reality. How can his soulmate talk about love? He has the feeling it’s aimed at him and yet, his soulmate has never met him. They don’t even know Marcus exists. And here they are, talking about love. Is this just their foolishness, he wonders? Despite everything, do they still hope that they will find their soulmate and live happily ever after with him? _Sorry, love, but it’s not gonna happen,_ Marcus thinks to himself one day as he reads the writing on his arm.

It’s getting easier to dodge and ignore the demons’ attempts at uncovering his weak spot, despite how close to it they’re getting.

“Perhaps you’re just running away because you don’t want to see the disappointment in their eyes when they realize you’re the thing that was made for them,” one says, and despite being used to it, Marcus has to admit this one hits harder and closer to home than he would have liked. “The other part of them? Their intended from _God_? What a joke!” the demon spits, and Marcus tries not to let the words get to him. “You’re just an old mutt that belongs in the street.”

A few weeks after, another psalm appear, this time on his leg, near his ankle.

 _Deuteronomy 31:6: “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.”_  
  
Marcus can’t help but feel targeted, but he knows he deserves this one. He left his soulmate before even meeting them. He wouldn’t be surprised if his soulmate’s curiosity and gentleness turned into anger.

Then, the writing gradually comes to a stop. Marcus chooses to take it as a sign that his soulmate finally gave up, gave up on him, and how could he blame them? He would probably give up on himself, too, and it wouldn’t take years. It probably wouldn’t even take a single one.

Nevertheless, he believes he got what he wanted and yet there’s a lingering feeling of loss he never thought he would feel. Something coming from deep within him, weeping for the loss, almost begging Marcus to do something, not to run away again.

Marcus soothes this little voice with the same usual confidence that soulmates aren’t for him, except this time he feels much less convincing.

Three years later, Marcus finds himself in Mexico City. A boy let a demon inside of his mind, Gabriel, he’s called, and when he sees him, he swears to the boy’s mother he’s going to move heaven and earth to bring her son back.


	2. Psalm 10:6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus hums and turns his head away, staring back at the old lady’s house. He allows his thoughts to wander again – about their current case, about God, about Tomas – until something quickly feels off, snapping him out of his thoughts. When he finally puts his finger on it, his heart almost stops. 
> 
> The skin of his arm is tickling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I would like to thank the amazing @milarca for beta reading the fic, and bearing all my ponctuation mistakes <3

******Part II: Psalm 10:6**  
**Why Do You Stand Far Off?**  
_He _says to himself, "Nothing will ever shake me." He swears, "No one will ever do me harm.”__

 

Tomas Ortega crashed into Marcus’ life the way no one had in a very long time. With a white collar tightly wrapped around his neck, a ridiculously charming Spanish accent, and with a suspected case of possession, _a girl in his parish. Maybe_.

Marcus doesn’t think much of Tomas at first, he barely pays attention to him. If anything, he just wants to be left alone with his canvas, his charcoal and his old, dusty music player. But leaving doesn’t seem to be part of Tomas’ plans, and Marcus is almost ready to slam the door in his face, but he’d rather wait until the young priest leaves on his own, really. However, everything changes when he hears Gabriel’s name. And then more words spill out of Tomas’ mouth, and there’s no way he could have found this information on his own without having been in the room when it happened. 

Someone – or something – definitely seems to have plans for them. 

Marcus doesn’t want to think it’s God – _it can’t be Him_ – because despite all the love he received from God, he’s also got quite a handful of demons, and a soulmate he’s not interested in meeting. 

He doesn’t know what to think of Tomas. Perhaps the man will only bring him misfortune, like many people have before. Perhaps he won’t ever see him again; perhaps this girl isn’t even possessed. Tomas certainly doesn’t seem to be convinced of it. But Marcus isn’t like Tomas; he has led a very different life, and he suspects that he will, on the contrary, see more of him. 

Marcus realizes later that Tomas doesn’t bring him misfortune. He brings him a lot of things, however, from a certain innocence that actually isn’t one to the lack of experience of a newcomer in the dangerous field of exorcisms, as well as a fully equipped flat with a surprisingly comfortable couch the likes of which Marcus hasn’t seen in a while. 

Tomas has his own secrets, too, Marcus soon learns, and they come in the form of love letters he shamefully keeps hidden in a shoe box. There aren’t a lot of questions asked about it – even less answered – and Marcus soon stops asking them, but he doesn’t forget them. 

Marcus isn’t a man who shares everything about his life either, but, unlike Tomas, he’s not going to let the first stranger he comes across find out about it. 

 

* * *

 

“Do you have a soulmate?” Tomas once asked while they were taking a break during Casey’s exorcism. For just a few minutes, they find refuge in the corridor outside the bedroom, and Marcus is sitting on the stairs while Tomas is leaning against the balustrade. 

Marcus is taking a well-deserved break, and Tomas’ question breaks a silence he truly wasn’t bothered by. As soon as he hears the words, he tries not to react too strongly to them. A vague answer hangs on his tongue, and he doesn’t really know what he should say. Telling Tomas he has indeed a soulmate would raise questions, and telling him he’s spent the last twenty years ignoring his soulmate is sure to elicit even more interrogations from the young priest. 

“They died,” he ends up responding, and he tells himself it’s not really a lie, just a slightly twisted truth. A speculation. For all he knows, his soulmate could be dead, as they haven’t written anything in more than three years. 

Marcus soon notices that Tomas is visibly quite embarrassed, having touched a sensitive nerve. Or at least, that’s what he must be telling himself. 

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss,” Tomas says, playing with his hands in an attempt to distract himself. 

“It’s fine. I wasn’t close to them.”

“But they were your soulmate,” Tomas protests, leaning a little bit over the railing so he could have a better look at the man underneath him. “It must have meant something.”

“It didn’t. Soulmates are overrated.”

“I don’t think they are.” The answer comes a bit too quickly, and Tomas looks ready to defend the whole concept if he has to. 

“Well, they’re useless to us,” Marcus says. “We’re exorcists, Tomas; we don’t need soulmates. We would have something too big to lose. We devote our life to God - there’s not place in it for someone who would not only endanger us, but endanger themselves by being tied to us.”

“I think soulmates are a beautiful thing,” Tomas argues. “It gives us a purpose; we’re bound to someone, someone who completes us–  they are the other part of us.”

They haven’t known each other for long, but sometimes Marcus thinks Tomas is definitely too much of a romantic to be an exorcist. Those words are coming from a man who owns cheesy romance novels – Marcus spotted them after making his way into Tomas’ apartment in a _legally questionable_ way – and who likes to sit down to watch his daily telenovelas episode, after all. So hearing those words slip past Tomas’ lips is the opposite of a surprise. Of course Tomas would have such an idealized version of the concept of soulmates. 

“And what if someone doesn’t want a soulmate, hm? What happens?” Marcus shoots back, finally turning his head to meet Tomas’ eyes. He was expecting the incomprehension he saw in them, and the small silence that followed. 

“Then I think it’s sad. They’re missing something great.”

This is too much for Marcus. He stands up and leans on the railing, getting closer to Tomas’ face. “What about you, Tomas? Are you missing something great? Because I don’t think I’ve seen anything written on your arm,” he accuses, letting his eyes drift down to Tomas’ arms. “Or any other part of your skin, for that matter.” _He’s stared_ , of course he has, and Marcus had even wondered if Jessica was Tomas’ soulmate. If they were writing letters to each other because writing on their skin would be too dangerous considering Jessica’s marital situation. 

But then, one day, Marcus had seen her visiting the church with rough looking letters on her left arm. He wasn’t close enough to see what it said, but he knew for sure that Tomas didn’t bear the same words on his skin. 

“I…” Tomas’ face falls and he lowers his head, not knowing how to reply. “It’s complicated,” he ends up saying and Marcus doesn’t ask. Doesn’t really care. 

If Tomas aspires to be an exorcist, then he’ll need to learn what exactly makes an exorcist good at their job. And that he won’t be missing much by not having a soulmate, or by dwelling on whatever happened to them. 

They hear some thrashing in Casey’s bedroom, and they both know the discussion is over, though this  isn’t welcomed by both of them equally. Tomas would have wanted to know more, obviously, but Marcus isn’t too prone to talking about his past. 

He takes a few steps back before turning his attention to the bedroom, and Tomas follows him in silence. 

They don’t speak about it again. 

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t take long for Marcus to understand that there’s something more between him and Tomas than just some sort of professional or amical relationship – at least on his side. 

They’re on the road, and it barely feels real but it’s his life, once again. 

Casey, Angela, and the whole Rance family are safe, finally rid of a poison that almost was the end of them. The family is resting now, and despite how much Tomas wanted to linger around a little while, they’re soon back on the road because Marcus wasn’t too keen on staying. 

And, surprisingly, Tomas joined him. So he’s got an apprentice now, sort of, and he’s not alone in his job. Tomas is nowhere near an expert - not yet - but he’s learning. Maybe a little too fast - so much so that Marcus can’t stop a certain feeling from rising up, one that makes him feel like Tomas is some kind of replacement. Someone younger, and newer; someone who isn’t the old broken mutt Marcus thinks of himself as. 

Marcus manages to swallow up this feeling most of the time and when he truly thinks about it, he realizes this isn’t so bad. This situation, this _partnership_ , this life. He doesn’t know how long it’ll last, but a part of him truly doesn’t care about the fact that it could very well last for more than just a few months. And, oh, he enjoys it, though he’ll never admit it to Tomas. 

He enjoys it more than just a little bit, actually, and he doesn’t quite know how he should feel about it. As they travel through the whole country, Marcus soon comes to the realization that there are some things he’s grown used to without even realizing. How much he likes touching Tomas, for instance. It’s something that just comes so naturally, sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s doing it. And when he does, his touch lingers, for a few agonizing seconds, during which he knows he’s going to have to pull away soon. 

A road trip like this doesn’t allow them much privacy. They have to share motel rooms, sometimes even beds, and Marcus finds out he doesn’t mind at all. But it’s not like he could do something about it, could he? Tomas most likely doesn’t feel the same way; sweet Tomas, probably still mourning the loss of his relationship with Jessica – the woman he had to leave behind – like the hopeless romantic he is. 

Sometimes, he wonders whether Tomas notices how much he stares. How he aches for his touch, then tries to deny it to himself. Unfortunately, there’s no denying how he feels. 

Marcus fell; from where, he doesn’t know – doesn't care – but he _fell_ , and didn’t see the ground until it was too late.

 

* * *

 

Marcus doesn’t know until it hits him; hard.  

The simpleness of how it happens still shakes him to this day, when he lays awake at night and is reminded of the warm feeling that had blossomed in his chest – after the initial panic that had seized his mind. 

He remembers it well. It wasn’t on a beautiful day, nor on a bad one. The sky was grey; clouds mostly hiding the sun, but without bringing any rain upon them. There was no wind, but it wasn’t warm enough to leave their jackets at the motel. They wouldn’t be gone for long, anyway. 

A message from Bennett had warned them of an old lady who had claimed a few days ago to have seen a woman acting strangely in the field in front of her house. _Just checking on her claims won’t hurt you_ , Bennett had assured him, and that’s how Marcus had driven them to a small town in the middle of nowhere, with cornfields going far above his field of view. 

“Do you have a pencil?” Tomas asks. The young priest is sitting down in the driver’s seat while Marcus is standing outside, leaning against the side of the car, both doors open. He checks inside the glove box in silence until he pulls out an beat-up black pencil and hands it to him, hoping it still works. 

“I don’t want to forget the phone number she gave us,” Tomas explains, and begins to roll his sleeve up. 

“So you’re gonna write it on your skin?”

“Well, yeah. I don’t like doing it, though; I was told it wasn’t very sanitary.” He shrugs, and Marcus feels like there’s more to it than Tomas wants to admit. “But I don’t really have any other choice.”

Marcus hums and turns his head away, staring back at the old lady’s house. He allows his thoughts to wander again – about their current case, about God, about _Tomas_ – until something quickly feels off, snapping him out of his thoughts. When he finally puts his finger on it, his heart almost stops. 

The skin of his arm is tickling. 

For a few seconds he stops breathing, until the air suddenly rushes back into his lungs. His heart starts again and it accelerates, because _this can’t be happening_ , but the tickling doesn’t stop. It’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in years. Three years, exactly, because that’s when his soulmate had written to him for the last time. 

He cannot check, because he doesn’t want Tomas to see, and maybe he’s wrong, maybe it’s just an itch. But then the tickling stops, just when Tomas speaks again. “Okay, done.” And Marcus isn’t moving - _he cannot move_ \- his feet are stuck to the ground like they’re made of marble and his whole body feels frozen to the bone. 

This must have been a coincidence, he thinks, but he isn’t doing a great job of convincing himself. 

Later, when they’re back at the motel, he runs to the bathroom and the door is barely closed that he rolls up his sleeve to check. _There they are_ : the numbers Tomas has written on his skin a few hours ago - the exact phone number they had been given. 

Marcus covers his mouth with his hand, still in complete shock. He can’t deny what’s happening; the proof is there, on his own body. Inked into his skin; a mark of belonging. 

Tomas is his soulmate.

When he’s calmed down, Marcus looks at his arm again and gently traces the writing with his fingers. It’s a familiar handwriting he’s seen a few times since meeting Tomas. It’s his, there’s no doubt about it. 

He saw Tomas writing this phone number down, he _felt_ it and now it’s there, on his skin. Because Tomas is his intended from God. 

Is this a cruel joke? He can’t help but think it is, because he’s spent years running away from his soulmate, and then God sent his soulmate running after him. _Oh, the irony_ , he thinks as he lets his body fall against the bathroom door until he’s sitting on the floor; he feels boneless. 

The decision isn’t hard to make. Tomas can’t know about this, not after what Marcus did. He tells himself it’s because he made the decision twenty years ago to live without a soulmate, but Marcus knows the real reason runs deeper than that. But this, he isn’t ready to admit it yet. 

When he gets out of the bathroom a few minutes later, the sleeves of his shirt are carefully hiding the writing - as if it's a blasphemy instead of something that should be worshipped. As if it never existed. And for a long moment, he pretends it never did. 

 

* * *

 

Marcus tries not to act differently now that he knows Tomas is his soulmate. He can’t let him know – because Tomas obviously doesn’t know – but he can’t help himself. He grows a little bit distant; touches Tomas less than usual. He wants to, oh, he wants to so badly, but he catches himself before he can put a hand on Tomas’ shoulder, or before he can cup his cheek. Why exactly, he doesn’t know. It just feels like the right thing to do. 

He also gets harsher in the training; lecturing Tomas for pretty much anything. Tomas, good as he is, doesn’t say much, just takes it all. He tries to improve, to figure out what he was doing wrong and tries again, and again, _and again_ –

More often than not, when he watches Tomas keep going despite the exhaustion, despite the dark circles under his eyes, Marcus believes he doesn’t deserve such a soulmate; doesn’t think he deserves a soulmate at all, in all honesty. 

Is this who God sent as his soulmate? Someone who really does feel like a replacement, sometimes. Or at least that’s what he keeps telling himself; the words shamefully burning in his throat as they refuse to come out. 

But then, he remembers how his heart skipped a bit when he understood that the man he harbored feelings for was actually his soulmate. He thinks about it, about the warm feelings that now settle in the pit of his stomach whenever he’s reminded of the fact that he could write anything on his skin, and it would appear on Tomas’. _He’s mine. And I’m his_.

Yet, Marcus doesn’t say anything. He’s locking his heart in a chest and throwing the key into the ocean. And the longer he keeps the secret, the more it feels like watching the chest slowly sink into the deep and cold water, away from him. Away from Tomas.   

The demons’ speech changes, now that Marcus has learnt the truth about his soulmate and still keeps the secret carefully hidden away. They adapt their words, perfidious beings that they are, relentlessly trying to crawl under his skin, to make their way into his mind and find what exactly weakens him. And lately, they rarely fail. Marcus guesses he should do a better job at hiding his feelings; Tomas might be the only one to not suspect anything. 

A demon tries to use this to get to him, one night, but thankfully Tomas isn’t in the room when it happens. After spending hours tugging on its bonds – its bloody wrists evident of that – the thing is surprisingly calm, so calm that Marcus knows it has something on its mind.  

“You’re pathetic,” the demon suddenly spits, its skin a disgusting mixture of green, yellow and black. “Selfish,” it says, and then, it’s laughing, blood coloring its rotting teeth and spilling out of its mouth. “You’ll never get to know true love - he won’t want you.” 

Marcus closes his eyes. Prays. He can’t let this demon get to his head. 

“He would hate to be your soulmate, he’s still thinking about that woman.” The demon says with a mocking chuckle, and Marcus prays even harder. Prays for what, he doesn’t know anymore. For this innocent soul to be saved. For the demon to stop. But a small, growing part of him is praying for something else. _Please don’t let it be the truth_. “Can you imagine what it will be like when he learns that you’re his intended from God, and that you hid it from him? He’s going to hate you.”

Hate. The word hurts, like poison running through his veins and corrupting him from the inside. Yet, he still doesn’t say anything. 

When Tomas comes back, the demon is visibly not done talking. “Do you know dear Marcus here keeps lying to you? And you have no idea–”

Marcus throws holy water at it before it can finish its sentence, hissing instead. Tomas is obviously confused, and his eyes move from the demon to Marcus, seeking answers he won’t have. Before he can get any, indeed, Marcus opens his mouth and his words are sharper than they’ve ever been. 

“Get out of the room. I’ll finish the exorcism on my own.” 

Tomas is even more confused, because he doesn’t move from an inch. Marcus is too preoccupied by the demon to imagine what’s currently going through Tomas’ mind, if he blames himself or not for the reaction.  “But–”

“Get out!” Marcus yells at him and Tomas has no other choice than to obey, silently stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him, all the while Marcus tightens his grip around the bottle of holy water in his hand, prayers falling from his chapped lips. 

 

* * *

 

They save the man. The family cheers, thanking them again and again while Tomas assures them that they don’t have to. _It’s our job, really. There’s no need to thank us_ , he says, but Marcus knows how much he shamefully enjoys the praise. 

The family ask them to stay, and since they have nowhere else to go, they do. 

Most of the evening is spent in silence, except for the small talk made with the family upon dinner. When it’s over, they talk in the living room, until Marcus decides he needs to breathe some fresh air. He excuses himself and makes his way outside, aware of Tomas’ eyes following him until he disappears through the door. 

He finds a bench on the porch and sits down, staring up at the stars. Here, far away from the city, the sky is beautiful. Marcus can pinpoint and name almost every star, and he feels like their number is higher than they’ve ever been. He remembers showing some to Tomas, when the lack of motels on the road had forced them to sleep in the back of the truck. He remembers them both, laying down shoulder to shoulder, almost childishly pointing at the stars and arguing over constellations. 

Suddenly, there’s the sound of a door opening, and Marcus doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s behind him.

“Hey,” Tomas says before sitting down next to Marcus. “They’re wondering if something’s wrong with you. You were pretty quiet during dinner.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” 

“I told them you were feeling sick after the exorcism. We both know it happens sometimes.”

Marcus would be touched by how much Tomas cares if he wasn’t still very much preoccupied by what the demon had said, despite how much he tried to forget about it. He doesn’t answer, and a silence falls between them. Marcus soon finds out he really didn’t mind the silence when he hears Tomas’ words again. 

“What did the demon mean, when he said you were hiding things from me?” Tomas asks, and Marcus has to refrain himself from reacting to the boldness of this unexpected question. Of course Tomas would ask. No secrets, they had said. And this time, Marcus is the one hiding something. 

“Nothing.”

“But it _had_ to mean something.”

Marcus sighs, annoyed by Tomas’ insistence. Or more accurately, by the fact that Tomas has figured out something was indeed wrong. “Sometimes it doesn’t, Tomas,” he says. “Sometimes they just want to play with you, to turn us again each other.”

“You’re hiding things from me.” It’s an accusation, but Marcus feels the uncertainty in Tomas’ tone. 

“I’m not, it’s exactly how they get to us, and we can’t let them do that,” he says, and before Tomas can reply – Marcus is already tired of this conversation – he stands up and turns around. “We should go back inside.” 

However, before he can leave, he feels Tomas grab his sleeve, holding him back. “Please don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

“I’m not,” he declares. “Don’t believe everything the demons tell you, it’s the first step to eternal damnation.” He then pulls away, leaving Tomas completely alone under the stars they used to observe together, quiet laughter falling from their mouths; unsaid confessions hanging from their lips - these too secret to be spoken out loud, but pure enough to be shown through their touch. 

 

* * *

 

Everything is dark; Marcus feels like he’s falling into a void, like his feet aren’t even touching the floor. He can’t see, can’t hear, but he _feels_ it. Or rather, feels the lack of anything consistent. He’s lost. 

And suddenly, there it is: a steady ground under him, a silence that shouldn’t feel so threatening, and a warm, regular breath against his nape. The danger he felt is soon forgotten when a familiar voice breaks the silence. 

“Marcus…”

He opens his eyes but doesn’t turn around, too startled to do anything. Is it a dream? It certainly feels like one, because Tomas’ breath is warm against his skin, and he feels like he’s going to burn – that’s what Tomas does to him. Two hands are slowly moving up his arms, in such a way that can’t be anything but a way to tease him, to _tempt_ him, to lure him into something he’s thought about before because how could he not, with this beautiful man ready to follow him to the edge of the world and beyond? 

And then, before he can truly find an answer to his original question, there’s a warm body pressed against his back, and Marcus gives in, closes his eyes and leans into the contact. “Marcus…” There it is again, this voice, calling out his name in such a way that Marcus feels sacred, feels like it’s coming from God Himself, blessing his very own existence and giving it purpose again. 

“Tomas…” he sighs, not even bothered by the irregularity of his own breathing – are those lips he can feel against his neck? –  with nothing on his mind but the thought of leaning into Tomas’ touch, of turning around and taking him into his arms like he’s wished to do so many times, peppering his neck with soft kisses, showering him with gentle words that only slip past his lips in moments of weakness, in the few fantaisies he allows his mind to create. 

But then, suddenly, his promising new fantasy, or dream – whatever this is – is broken, shattered by only a few words that feel as sharp as a knife piercing his flesh, already too much scarred.   

“You lied to me,” Tomas says, and the warmth against Marcus’ back is gone, turning him into prey in the sudden cold, invading the room. “You made me believe I was alone in this world, and for what? Just so you wouldn’t have to lose anyone?” he asks, and his words are burning, making their way into Marcus’ mind through every fiber of his being. “So no one would hurt you? Because you think you can be on your own, because you think you don’t need a soulmate?”

Tomas slowly walks around Marcus until he’s standing right in front of him, and his eyes are all wrong. They’re not the warm shade of brown Marcus is familiar with; they’re radiating anger and hate, but Marcus can’t help but think this is what he deserves. 

“Do you know what it’s like?” Tomas spits. “To write, and write to your soulmate, to pour your heart into it, only for them to ignore you? Do you know what it’s like, Marcus?” He asks, but doesn’t give Marcus the time to answer. It’s visibly not a question, and Marcus’ lips are sealed anyway - he feels like they’re sewn together. He can’t talk; can’t move. 

“Of course you don’t. Because you’re the one who did this to me. You don’t know what it’s like to end up thinking that you don’t even have a soulmate, to see your friends’ skin covered in ink while yours stays blank, no matter how much you try to make contact. You have no idea what’s it like to think you’re completely _alone_ in the whole world.” 

Oh, Marcus knows what it’s like. But he’s never hated anyone for it. And he can imagine how much Tomas would hate him, because that’s the only outcome Marcus can think of. 

He spots some patterns, similarities with what the demons told him, which isn’t surprising. Those sharp words were in Marcus’ mind before, the fear of hearing them one day, and in an attempt to ignore it, Marcus only made it stronger. 

The demons preyed on it. How could they not, when Marcus handed his fears to them on a silver platter?

“You’re selfish, Marcus, _pathetic_ , and I wish I had never met you. I wish she was my soulmate. I wish–”

Marcus’ eyes snap open and the first thing that come into view is the noisy ceiling fan moving above their beds. It takes him a few seconds to understand it was just a dream, and when he finally comes back to his senses, he hears the sound of Tomas’ regular breathing coming from the single bed next to his own. He doesn’t seem to have woken him up, which is good. 

Sitting up, Marcus runs a hand over his sweaty forehead before letting out a sigh, his heart still beating as fast as it was in the dream. He doesn’t know what to do, what to think, except for the fact that he’s _terrified_. Despite this being a dream – nightmare - Marcus is convinced it’s more than that. That this dream is just a vision of a future that’s going to happen, and most likely very soon. He won’t able to keep the secret forever. 

He throws a glance at Tomas, whose body is barely visible due to the darkness of the room, but he can still distinguish the eye-catching movement of his chest rising up and down and it takes him a few seconds to tear his gaze away from it. 

Eventually, Marcus lets his own body fall back onto the mattress, sighing. 

He stays awake all night. 

 

* * *

 

“I could have finished the exorcism on my own, Marcus!” Tomas’ voice is laced with anger and annoyance, but Marcus isn’t going to let himself be intimidated by it.

They’re back in their motel room after a particularly tough exorcism, one that lasted longer than expected due to Marcus’ refusal to let Tomas _offer_ himself to the demon; because that’s what it is to Marcus. Nothing more than a foolish offering that was putting Tomas’ own existence at risk. 

“You were putting yourself in danger, your soul could have been lost!” 

“It wouldn’t, I would have saved him, and we wouldn’t have wasted so much time! This thing I can do, it’s a gift. Not using it would be such a waste!”

 _You don’t understand_ , Marcus almost screams, because Tomas really doesn’t. I can’t lose you. He only recently realized that it’s not even because Tomas is his soulmate, but because he’s genuinely terrified of the fact that he could lose him forever. He’s not afraid of losing his soulmate, but of waking up every morning knowing he won’t get to hear Tomas’ voice, to see his eyes or to touch him - all of that because a demon took him away. He can’t allow that to happen. 

“You don’t get it,” he says, and he feels like Tomas isn’t even listening to him. He probably isn’t. 

It almost kills him, how unaware Tomas seems to be about everything. About the importance of his own life, about Marcus’ feelings. 

“I was so close, Marcus, so close!”

“The only things you were close to were integration and _death_ ,” he spits, walking around Tomas and leaning against the small desk pushed up against the wall. Tomas follows him with his eyes, and Marcus notices an angry-looking red mark on Tomas’ neck, where the demon had tried to bite him – and half succeeded. 

“Why are you like this?” Tomas asks, rolling his eyes and sighing in frustration. 

It’s a good question, and one Marcus doesn’t have the answer to. When he first met Tomas, the answer would have been easy; laced with honestly and a little bit of sarcasm. _I don’t want to be responsible for the death of an innocent man, even if he undoubtedly asked for it_. Something along those lines. But things have changed. Tomas isn’t just anyone, isn’t a random innocent man whose death Marcus doesn’t want to have on his conscience. 

Tomas is… something else. Something more. He’s the embodiment of something Marcus hasn’t felt in years. He doesn’t want to put a name to it, because doing so would be acknowledging what he spent months trying to deny, to avoid. And yet, he knows exactly what he’s feeling for Tomas. 

Marcus has come to terms with his feelings, mostly because he knows he’s reached a point where denying them would be pointless. They’re real, and they’re _here_ , deep inside his old, brittle, and a little bit broken heart. His feelings are the reason why his day is brighter whenever he gets to spend it close to Tomas; the reason why he feels his heart start to accelerate at the simplest touch from the other man. And Marcus doesn’t know if he can take it, because it all fell down on him at once, without warning. 

“What’s going on with you?” Tomas asks, visibly still very much angry, and Marcus crosses his arms over his chest. It seems like the best way to protect himself from what he knows is coming. “You’ve been acting strangely for the past few weeks, and it’s like I’m a burden to you more than anything else.” He says this, and for the first time since they entered the room, Marcus sees the insecurity in Tomas’ eyes, the incomprehension at feeling rejected, the _pain_. And he just hates himself even more for causing it. 

He’s still speaking, but Marcus is barely listening to him. He has to make a choice, because he can’t stand this anymore, and it’s pretty clear that Tomas can’t either. 

“It’s like you’re pushing me away! Why?!”

At those words, Marcus lifts his head up and just like that, he’s done. He doesn’t reply, at least not with his tongue. Instead, he turns around and grabs a pencil from the desk before rolling up his sleeve. 

He does notice the confusion on Tomas’ face, how his brows draw together as he wonders what’s going on. And then, Marcus starts writing on his own skin. He doesn’t look at his arm; he doesn’t need to. Instead, his eyes are set on Tomas, because the message he wants to convey won’t be solely through words, but also through looks. He needs Tomas to look him into the eyes. 

Just after he’s started, he sees Tomas’ brown eyes widen. His skin has most likely begin to tickle. Marcus knows the feeling all too well. 

Tomas starts rolling up his own sleeve with trembling hands, and Marcus spots the exact moment the confusion on his face turns into pure shock. When his own eyes fall down, he sees his words upside down on Tomas’ arm, inked into his unblemished skin. 

_This is why._

His lips are dry, no words can fall from them. It’s like the pencil he’s been writing with has run out of ink. So Marcus puts it back on the table and turns around. He doesn’t even reach for his jacket; just opens the door, only to be met with the cold winter winds. The cold isn’t tempting, but it still feels more welcoming that what is undoubtedly waiting for him inside of the motel room. Anger. _Hate_. 

Marcus pretends he doesn’t hear Tomas’ voice calling out his name when he walks out of the motel and into the cold, endless night. 


	3. Psalm 147:3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every word from his soulmate used to feel like a curse, something he couldn’t get rid of. But every word from Tomas feels like something completely different; a gift, a blessing from God Himself.
> 
> And there lies the fundamental difference between the notion of a soulmate and what Tomas represents. A soulmate isn’t special; Tomas is.

****Part III: Psalm 147:3**  
**It is Good to Sing Praises to Our God**  
** _He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds._

 

He doesn’t take the car – he can’t do that to Tomas – so he walks. It’s freezing outside, the night is unforgiving, and the harsh asphalt road is hurting his feet through his shoddy shoes. Marcus couldn’t care less, but he still curses himself for forgetting his jacket at the motel, and for not putting more money into the quality of his clothes.

Yet, he keeps walking. In his actual state of mind, it feels like the only rational thing to do. He has nowhere to go, no real purpose apart from the thought that he needs to put some distance between him and Tomas. He doesn’t even question the cowardice of his actions. It’s too late for that anyway.

Marcus can imagine how Tomas would lecture him about not taking care of himself, like he’s done in the past. How he would tell him to be more careful, to put a jacket on, to get some rest, to eat more. Because _really, Marcus, you’re just skin and bones_ , he told him once, without an ounce of judgement but with a significant amount of worry.

He would have smiled if it wasn’t for the painful reminder that that was what Tomas _used_ to do. Being over-dramatic feels unnecessary but inevitable; Tomas isn’t gone, isn’t _dead_ , but he certainly won’t want to stay around Marcus now that he’s aware of the truth, and what probably feel like a betrayal.

From the minute he left the motel to the current moment, Marcus’ skin never stopped tickling, proving once again – after all those years – how much of a talkative soulmate Tomas actually is. He began to feel the ticklish sensation as he disappeared into the night, away from the flickering light coming from the motel’s sign. Marcus only stares at his skin from time to time, because what he sees is pretty much what he had been expecting.

_Why didn’t you tell me??_

The sentence is underlined three times, and that’s how Marcus knows Tomas is pissed. He can’t blame him, though, because he undeniably deserves it.

_How long have you known??_

He’s been expecting it, indeed, but it doesn’t make it easier. It’s _fucking painful_ , actually, to imagine Tomas as angry as his words seem to be. The black lines forming the words on his arm are thick, like the pencil has been pressed too harshly against Tomas’ skin, to a point where it probably hurts, and he can’t help but think it should be a sin, to defile such beautiful skin with ugly words like that.

_MARCUS!_

* * *

 

After what feels like hours, he finds another motel, lost alongside an empty road. Thankfully for him, Marcus has a bit of money left in his pocket, at least enough to assure him a few nights spent in the moderate comfort of a warm bed.

The bored lady at the counter doesn’t ask any questions despite the curious she gives him. She’s most likely seen worse than a man checking in in the middle of the night, without a jacket on in the winter and a mourning look on his old, tired face. Marcus himself had walked into motels in worse conditions before, sometimes even with a broken nose and a split lip after a tough exorcism, and blood that wasn’t entirely his own all over his clothes.

He had quickly learnt – early in his exorcist life – that the cheaper the motel, the less questions asked.

He makes his way to his room and when he’s inside, he doesn’t even turn the lights on. He closes the door and lets his body slide against it until he’s sitting on the cold, hard floor. His skin is tickling again, and he idly wonders if it’s stopped since he left. He doesn’t think it has.

When he finally looks down, he’s surprised to note that the anger that was first in Tomas’ words has visibly evaporated. Now, it looks like Tomas is trying to find a compromise.

_Come back and we’ll discuss it._

A part of Marcus wants to go back, but he’s now more terrified than ever. He’s spent years walking away from his soulmate; _decades_ , if he wants to look even more like an asshole, and now he’s running again. Such a cowardly thing to do, running, but he’s too scared to go back.

Maybe he can still pretend that everything is fine, that nothing will change; he’s spent most of his life alone anyway. What would it matter if he spent a few more years on his own? He’s not exactly getting younger, anyway.

_I’m still at the motel. I’m not leaving until you come back._

Marcus is still convinced he didn’t deserve a soulmate in the first place, and that he certainly didn’t deserve Tomas. Not that it matters now; whatever they had was probably crushed to pieces the moment Marcus started to write on his skin.

Perhaps the pill will be easier to swallow if he pretends he still doesn’t want a soulmate. But he would be lying to himself, or at least partly. Because Marcus doesn’t want a soulmate. He wants _Tomas_.

Going back to the motel probably means losing everything, and he doesn’t know if he can take it.

_I’m not mad, Marcus, please. I want to understand._

Can he understand? Marcus ponders, because he’s fairly sure Tomas can’t. He has a family; he doesn’t know what it’s like to live a lonely life, to walk on an empty road until one day, his world suddenly spins out of control with no way for him to stop it. Marcus is certain that Tomas doesn’t know what it’s like to feel tied to someone against his will, only to discover that person is none other than the man he fell in love with. He should be happy, a little voice tells him, but he’s not. How could he be happy, when the man he loves turned out to be the person he’s spent years despising for being so insistent? How could he be happy, when his feelings are now more conflicted than ever?

_Come back or I’ll cover my entire skin with ink._

For a moment, Marcus believes that Tomas will indeed do it, and that the next time he’ll look down, he’ll be met with an assortment of words, all in different colors, until they cover all the scars on his skin.

_I swear I’ll do it._

He doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Finally, after hours of trying to communicate with Marcus, it seems like Tomas’ words reach a new level of emotion.

_Please come back._

He’s begging, and Marcus has never seen him beg like that before. The lines forming the words are thin, sometimes even irregular, as if the hand holding the pencil was trembling as it wrote. He’s never _read_ anything like this before, even on his own skin, when Tomas didn’t know Marcus existed and was just begging for someone, _anyone_ , to reply to his words, like a bottle desperately thrown into the sea.

_Marcus, por favor…_

He can’t express how much it hurts to read this, and the fact that now – unlike before meeting Tomas – he can _hear_ the sound of his voice as he reads the words makes it even worse.

_Don’t leave me…_

After three days, the writing stops, and it almost breaks Marcus’ heart, or what’s left of it. There are just a few words remaining and he dreads the moment they’ll fade away, mostly because he can’t help but think those are the last words from Tomas he’ll ever get.

But the more he thinks about it, the more a particular feeling rises. Something telling him he’s making a mistake, because it’s not how things should be. He ignores it, at first, because _of course it was the best decision, even if it was made in the heat of the moment._ But now, Marcus isn’t so sure about it.

When he was a kid, Marcus was scared he didn’t have a soulmate; he was scared to be alone in the world. But then, by running away, he had put Tomas in the exact same position; he had made him believe there was no one for him out there.

What’s he doing? There’s someone who’s been put on this earth to love him and for him to love, and all Marcus does is trying to avoid him. He’s been selfish by running away from his soulmate, so why couldn’t he be selfish again and run right back into his arms? It’s a different kind of selfish, one that makes him crave the feeling of strong arms wrapped around his body, of soothing, sweet words whispered into his ear.

And now, by his own foolishness, he might have lost the one thing he didn’t know he wanted more than anything else in the world. Someone by his side. A smiling face to wake up to, a warm hand holding his own while traveling around the country, his precious bible safe in the other hand.

Because in the end, he doesn’t want a soulmate; he wants something far more precious. A partner he loves unconditionally.

And, _God help him_ , he loves Tomas. He loved him before he even knew they were soulmates. Marcus doesn’t want to believe his feelings were influenced by their invisible ties. He knows they aren’t; deep down he just _knows_.

Marcus stands up, doesn’t even bother checking his face in the mirror – he looks like a mess anyway – and starts gathering his almost non-existent belongings. He knows what he has to do.

He doesn’t want to think about the consequences, about what Tomas might say to him, might yell at him. In the moment, nothing matters more than wrapping his arms around Tomas and apologizing for the pain he’s caused him over the years.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t expected him to show up in this motel room, somehow. God had led Tomas to him once, why wouldn’t he do it twice? But then, Marcus realizes that this time, perhaps Tomas isn’t the one who’s supposed to go after him. Perhaps it’s Marcus who’s meant to turn around and start running in the opposite direction, in Tomas’ direction. And perhaps, just perhaps, it’s what he was supposed to do _from the start_.

 

* * *

 

The walk back to the motel room is spent with hundreds of thoughts hammering his exhausted mind. He doesn’t want to think too much about it, mostly because he’s still unsure about everything; about coming back, about the events that are going to unfold. But he ends up thinking about it anyway, because how could he not? His future is at stake here, and he’s made a mistake once again – ironically the same one as before – but this time, he isn’t sure he can fix everything.

How will Tomas react? Will he yell at him? Will he despise him even more for leaving once again? Will he even still be there? The writing’s stopped, which means there’s an actual possibility that Tomas gave up and left to make his way back to Chicago. Marcus has put enough thought into this before leaving the motel, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get a headache if he keeps thinking about it.

It takes less time than he would have thought to reach the motel, which only makes him wonder how close to it he actually was during those past few days. Their truck is still there, and Marcus almost lets out a sigh of relief before realizing it actually doesn’t mean anything; Tomas could have left by other means.

When he finally stands in front of the door, he realizes he’s left his keys inside, after leaving in such a hurry. He wasn’t even really expecting to come back. God, he _really_ is a mess.

So without any other option, Marcus knocks on the door.

For a few seconds, there’s absolutely nothing but heavy silence and what Marcus identifies as the sound of his heart pounding against his chest. And then, suddenly, he hear footsteps on the other side of the door, but he’s reminded of the painful fact that it could very well be a complete stranger.

The door is yanked open with such eagerness that it can’t possibly belong to a random tenant.

Marcus doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until he sees Tomas – staring right back at him – and suddenly, he feels like he can breathe again.

There he stands, unchanged, except maybe for his hair; it’s a complete mess, but who is Marcus to judge, really, because he isn’t much better. Tomas looks like he hasn’t gotten a good night of sleep in days. He probably hasn’t, Marcus reminds himself, and that’s all _his_ fault.

Instead of talking like Marcus expects him to do, Tomas launches himself forward and then before Marcus can really understand what’s happening, a warm body has enveloped him in a crushing hug.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Tomas whispers against his ear, his voice trembling. Strong arms are wrapped around his neck and Marcus can feel them shaking, too.

He’s quite surprised Tomas didn’t punch him in the face the moment he saw him, since he still believed him to be completely pissed about the whole situation. But the more he thinks about it, the less accurate it seems. Tomas wasn’t shaped with violence like Marcus was; didn’t grow up fighting the relentless creatures hiding in the dark and feeding off people’s fears, griefs, and desires. His body isn’t scarred like Marcus’ old one is.

No, he’s something else. He’s beautiful and gentle and very much perfect to Marcus’ eyes, because Tomas is everything he isn’t. And he wants to punch anyone who ever looked at this man and didn’t see the perfection that blesses Marcus’ eyes every single time he allows himself to stare.

When Tomas eventually breaks the embrace, it’s in a silence Marcus doesn’t want to end. His wrist is suddenly grabbed and tugged on, and he can just let himself be dragged to the bedroom until they’re both sitting down on the bed, their thighs close but not touching.

The silence dies when Tomas starts speaking, and Marcus is surprised he didn’t do it sooner.

“So you’re my soulmate.” His voice is soft, and calm - the exact opposite of what Marcus had predicted. He never expects to be treated with gentleness.

“Yes.”

God, could it be more awkward than that? At least Tomas doesn’t seem angry anymore, or if he is, he’s doing a great job of hiding it. Marcus can’t help but expect him to just suddenly burst and spit out what’s exactly in his heart.

“And I’m yours,” Tomas replies.

“Yes.” _Obviously_ , Marcus wants to add, but he figures that sarcasm wouldn’t be very appropriate right now; wouldn’t be very well welcomed by Tomas.

It’s not the right time for jokes. While Marcus has known about his soulmate’s identify for months, and about his existence for two decades, this is still new to Tomas. And Marcus certainly can’t blame him for having questions.

“When did you find out?”

He hesitates a little bit, because this is more than he’s ever done before. This is sharing something from his past, with none other than the man that should have been part of it, but wasn't because of Marcus’ own selfishness.

“About three months ago, when you wrote down a phone number on your arm because you didn’t have any paper. I felt tickling on my skin and when I checked, I saw it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I had my reasons.”

Marcus knows he’s not helping, but it truly is the first reply that comes into his mind.

“That’s not a real answer.”

“Well, that’s mine whether you like it or not.”

Tomas looks at Marcus like he’s trying to read his thoughts, to find out the answers to his questions himself since that seems to be the only way he’ll get them.

“Please, Marcus, I’m just trying to understand,” he says in such a gentle and broken tone that the little voice in Marcus’ head makes a strong comeback. _You don’t deserve such gentleness. You don’t deserve him_.

There is an awkward silence, something that probably couldn’t have been avoided even if they tried. Marcus doesn’t feel like speaking and Tomas doesn’t know how to make him speak. It’s clear he wants answers, and even though Marcus isn’t good at this, he wants to try, for Tomas’ sake.

“Did you know?” Tomas asks suddenly, and he’s playing with his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “When you told me your soulmate died, and that having a soulmate is a liability for an exorcist, did you know I was yours?”

This is a question Marcus has no issue finding the answer to. “No, I didn’t know. Does that make it better?”

“A little, yes.”

At least, it seems like he didn’t ruin _everything_.

“The fact that you didn’t tell me, is it because…”

Marcus wonders what Tomas is about to say until the words actually slip past his mouth, and they hurt so much more than he ever thought they would.

“Is it because you don’t want me to be your soulmate?” Tomas doesn’t say much more, but Marcus can easily read between the lines. Do I disgust you? After all the time you’ve spent lecturing me about my skills, does it disappoint you that I’m your soulmate?

“Do you hate me for–” When Tomas speaks again, Marcus realizes he hadn’t answered the previous question, and the second one makes him turn his head in shock.

“No, no, Tomas, never.” He shakes his head, leaning a bit and cupping Tomas’ cheek in the palm of his right hand. “It has nothing to do with you.”

How could he think that? Marcus ponders, but the answer isn’t hard to find. Of course Tomas would react that way; of course he would think it has everything to do with him, and that he’s the reason why Marcus hid the truth from him.

“And yet it has everything to do with me. From the first time I wrote on my skin to… to this moment.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Tomas,” Marcus sighs.

“Try me.”

He drops his hand and doesn’t answer. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he genuinely doesn’t know where to start, _how_ to start speaking.

“Can you tell me more?” Tomas eventually makes an attempt to ask. “About the first time you saw my words?” His tone is so gentle it almost brings tears to Marcus’ eyes. Tomas isn’t annoyed or angry, he’s gentle and caring; exactly the opposite of what demons had repeatedly showed and told him. _Of course he would be_ , how could Marcus ever doubt that?

“It happened during an exorcism. I had long since gotten used to the idea that I didn’t have a soulmate, so it was quite the surprise to see your words appear on my skin. I can still remember exactly what it said–”

“Hola,” they both say at the same time, and the corner of Marcus’ lips curve upward when he spots Tomas’ doing the same. It only last for a few seconds, but it brings some warmth to his tired heart.

“Why didn’t you reply?” Tomas asks, and Marcus finds it easier to speak, like a weight has been lifted off his chest.

“I was scared. For most of my life, I was told soulmates weren’t for me, and I ended up believing it. I didn’t think I was worthy of one. Still don’t think I am,” he admits, and he feels Tomas tense next to him. “I thought I didn’t need a soulmate.”

A soulmate is stability, gentleness, _love_ ; it’s the opposite of what Marcus has known for his entire, sad, pitiful life.

So when Tomas grabs his hand and stares right into the eyes, his own gaze not forcing its way into Marcus’ mind, but instead gently asking for permission, it definitely is a surprise.

“That’ll be for me to decide, don’t you think?”

It shouldn’t be so _easy_ , Marcus thinks, because after what he’s done, Tomas should hate him. He should yell, and yell, and _yell_ –

And yet, he does none of those things. He grabs Marcus’ hand and soothes him with tender words, not yelling but trying to understand. Forgiving; not hating. Is Tomas too good for him, too good for this harsh and grisly world? Or is this just what love is, he wonders?

“Will you give me a chance, Marcus?”

Tomas doesn’t get any answer, but something far more precious and meaningful; a squeeze of his hand, slow enough to convey what Marcus cannot express with words yet, and gentle like Tomas is something so treasured that Marcus is afraid he’ll break him by being just a little bit too rough.

It’s enough, and Tomas knows that.

 

* * *

 

“If I do the math, you were around sixteen when you first wrote to me,” Marcus declares barely an hour later. They’ve spent most of their time talking about trivial things – somehow still avoiding important subjects – while sitting next to each other on the bed. “Why didn’t you do it sooner?”

Tomas gives Marcus a small smile, staring down at their thighs now pressed together. “My abuela always stopped me from writing nonsense on my arm as a kid,” he replies, and Marcus doesn’t miss the emotion in Tomas’ eyes as he speaks about his late grandmother. “She caught me once as I was about to write something. I think I was maybe ten, and she told me she believed I should wait until I’m old enough to understand what having a soulmate means. She believed that the first words spoken to a soulmate should be special.”

 _And I’ve never replied_ , Marcus realizes with horror as he understands the impact that his actions – or rather, his lack of actions – must have had on Tomas. It’s heartbreaking, to think of him as a young man, trying desperately to contact his soulmate, naively believing that he was going to find them and that it would lead to a happy, flawless life. It’s such an easy thought, something that hadn’t even occurred to Marcus during all those years. Pure, simple happiness.

“Close your eyes,” Marcus instructs, and he sees the confusion in Tomas’ eyes before they disappear behind his eyelids as he obeys.

He grabs a nearby pencil, one different from earlier, and, when he’s sure Tomas is keeping his eyes closed, Marcus starts writing on his skin.

The small gasp that leaves Tomas’ lips gets his attention and he looks up, only to see the surprise on the younger man’s face. He notices how Tomas’ entire body shivers, as he’s probably feeling the tickling sensation that happens when a soulmate writes on your skin - when Marcus writes on his skin.  

Marcus knows he can’t take back what happened. He can’t unmake what he’s done. But maybe, just maybe, he can make it up for it.

“You can open your eyes,” he says, and Tomas does, immediately looking down at his arm like a child eager to open his presents on Christmas Day.

“Hello,” Tomas reads the word out loud, and is it just Marcus’ imagination, or are there tears in Tomas’ eyes? Tomas is smiling at him, _grinning_ , even, and Marcus is reminded of the fact that it’s only the second time Tomas has ever felt this, this ticklish sensation as your soulmate’s words slowly ink themselves onto your skin; while Marcus has felt it for years while trying to ignore and forget it.

“Can you hand me the pencil?” Tomas asks, and Marcus complies, and soon the familiar sensation makes itself known again as the young priest presses the pencil against his own skin.

 _Hello_.

Marcus can’t explain the warm feeling that spreads through his entire body as he reads the simple word, but he knows how intoxicating and addictive it feels. He wants more of it, and Tomas seems all too happy to provide.

 

* * *

 

They spend the next few hours writing on each other’s skin, sitting down in the middle of the double bed. Tomas has somehow managed to get the both of them shirtless, and their bodies are covered in ink. Marcus wants nothing more than for Tomas’ words to remain on his skin forever.

Speaking of Tomas, he seems to be having the time of his life. He very recently bought a surprisingly high amount of pencil at the small gas station in front of the motel and most of them are currently scattered on the sheets around them. The’ve got red, blue, green, purple, and some colors Marcus doesn’t even know how to name; _it’s coral, Marcus, and this one’s lavender, not purple_.

Marcus doesn’t ask how Tomas knows all of this because in the moment, the younger man is too busy using the pencils until they’re dry. He writes on his skin and watches it appear on Marcus’, writes on Marcus’ skin and is amazed to find out that it does also work that way when the words emerge on his foot.

Marcus was a bit shy when they began, but through soft touches and smiles, Tomas eventually managed to coax him into opening himself and making it up for almost twenty years of silence.

They write nonsense, things that make a little more sense, anything that goes through their minds. There are random words, things they’ve already said to each other; or, more rarely, thing they’ve not dared to say out loud yet.

 _I like you_.

Marcus writes it under his leg, and he’s certain Tomas hasn’t spotted it, since he’s too preoccupied by the small words he’s currently writing on his fingers; his brows furrowing as he tries to focus on it. It’s adorable, and Marcus finds himself staring at Tomas again.

He doesn’t deserve such gentleness, after everything he’s done to him; because Marcus has spent his life deprived of kindness, he doesn’t know how to live with something other than roughness.

Lost in his thoughts, he looks down and spots some words, upside down over his ribs; he doesn’t know when Tomas wrote this, but he’s certain it’s not the first time he sees it.

_Psalm 63:3: “Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.”_

Before he can react, Tomas’ attention is back on Marcus; he’s leaning dangerously close and suddenly, the tip of a pencil is pressing against his cheek. He doesn’t know what’s being written on it, but he can see the beginning of a word forming on Tomas’ cheek, starting from the left corner of his lips; undoubtedly moving towards his ear.

Marcus’ eyes linger on Tomas’ face, and the beauty and happiness he spots on it strikes him. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw Tomas so happy.

Perhaps it’s this thought that makes Marcus lean while Tomas is visibly lost in the making of his new creation, and before he can stop himself he’s closing the short gap between their lips in the most gentle way he can manage.

He hears a small gasp as Tomas’ writing is brought to an abrupt stop, and the word prematurely ends with a line that goes in direction of Marcus’ ear but never quite reaches it.

It can barely be called a kiss at first, because Marcus doesn’t even dare moving; he’s too afraid he’s going to _fuck something up_ if he does. But soon, Tomas starts responding and Marcus does the same; their lips sliding against each other in a way he can only describes as _perfect_. It’s shy, hesitating, like they’re afraid of breaking the other; but at the same time there’s a growing passion, something that has been hiding inside of them since long before they met.

It’s made even more obvious by how long Marcus has been waiting for this, he realizes, and how Tomas is most likely feeling the exact same way. A part of him isn’t surprised by how good it feels, how _right_.

They don’t want to part, it’s the last thing Marcus wants – he aches for more – but they have to, because oxygen is starting to become a scarce resource, so they pull away and he suddenly becomes fully conscious of what he has done. A blush creeps up his neck, and he tries to fight off the feeling of regret that is starting to make its way through his mind. What if this isn’t what Tomas wanted? What if Marcus is moving things forward too quickly?

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tomas immediately replies as the corners of his lips curve upward, slightly deforming the unfinished word on his skin. “I liked it.”

Marcus is clueless as to what to say – this wasn’t what he was expecting – but Tomas doesn’t seem to be bothered by it and grabs the nearest pencil, visibly not done with the writing.

_Can we try again? Por favor?_

“You know I’m in this room with you, right?” Marcus remarks with a snicker as he puts his arm next to Tomas’, the identical words next to each other.

“I know,” Tomas grins, “But it feels so good to write on my body and to know it’s going to appear on someone else's skin. To be able to _see_ it with my own eyes. To know I have a soulmate. I just…” He sighs and looks down, a smile on his face. When he looks up again, it’s to meet the older man’s eyes.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

Oh, is it possible for this man to get any more beautiful? Especially when he’s saying things like _this_.

“Don’t thank me, love. I’m the one who should do the thanking,” he says, “For all the years you’ve spent not giving up on me despite everything. And for not giving up on me after I left.”

“I wouldn’t have left. I was waiting for you to come back.” Tomas claims, and the faith in his eyes as he speaks almost turns Marcus’ world upside down. It’s been occurring a lot of times, lately.

“You’ve already given me more than I could ever ask for.” Marcus explains as his hand rests on Tomas’ hip, ready to bring him closer. “And now it’s my turn to give.”

This time, when he leans again, he doesn’t hesitate to press their lips together. The kiss is a little bit faster; it’s like they’re already learning their way around each other’s mouths, desperate to explore every inch of uncharted territory there is to discover.

When they pull away for air, Tomas is laughing. Marcus notices how swollen and pink his lips are – and abusing them like that almost feels like a sin, until he remembers this was an act of love Tomas was seemingly delighted to indulge in. He idly wonders if he, too, looks like he was just kissed into oblivion; like he got salvation from Tomas' lips alone. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, and has to wait a few seconds for Tomas to eventually calm down.

“I’m sorry I’ve ruined your cheek.” Tomas finally confesses, bringing a hand up to gently run a finger over the unfinished word on Marcus’ cheek. “And mine by the same occasion.”

“You haven’t.”

Every word from his soulmate used to feel like a curse, something he couldn’t get rid of. But every word from Tomas feels like something completely different; a gift, a blessing from God Himself.

And there lies the fundamental difference between the notion of a soulmate and what Tomas represents. A soulmate isn’t special; Tomas is.

 

* * *

 

Later, they’re unsurprisingly exhausted by all the excitement of the day. Laying down on the bed above the covers, they face each other without saying a word, but their silence tells more than any word ever could. Marcus is a running a hand over Tomas’ collarbone, his fingers tracing every inch of the uncovered skin with curiosity and wonder. They haven’t done anything beyond kissing; they don’t feel ready for more yet. They’re just fine with holding each other, slowly discovering their bodies in a small cocoon of safety and tenderness. The more heated activities will come later; for now it’s all about gentleness. It’s about making up for years of loneliness, years of lacking a vital part of themselves; it’s the celebration of finally finding each other.

Marcus gets so easily distracted when it comes to Tomas, and it lasts until a few words suddenly slip past the young man’s lips.

“I’m glad it’s you.”

For a moment, Marcus wonders if he’s heard well.

“Are you? Why?”

As he waits for Tomas’ answer, Marcus remembers all the hateful words demons ever spat at him ( _you’ll never be loved by anyone_ ), how he tried to ignore these venomous speeches ( _how could anyone want you as their soulmate?_ ), and how he ended up believing them against his will ( _you’re just running away because you don’t want to see the disappointment in their eyes when they realize you’re the one that was made for them_ ).

But now that he thinks about it; now that he remembers the day he had written on his arm for the first time, there was no disappointment in Tomas’ eyes, only anger and sadness at having been lied to. And now, whenever Marcus looks into Tomas’ eyes, he sees happiness and dare he says it, _love_.

“Well, because I was starting to like you…A lot.”

It was rare – almost unheard of – for soulmates to start loving each other before actually discovering about their bond. While Marcus believed he didn’t have a soulmate at first, then ran away from him, he was actually given something truly unique: a soulmate who loved him before knowing they had been made for each other. Feelings that weren’t influenced by the knowledge of their link; pure, sincere love.

Marcus cups Tomas’ cheek and smiles at him, and his heart gets a little bit lighter when Tomas gives him his smile back. He knows he doesn’t have to talk, because they both already know. And in that moment, Marcus is truly convinced Tomas was sent by God. Who else could send him such a blessing to light up the darkness in his life?

Marcus isn’t the hopeless romantic Tomas is. He knows it’s going to take time for him to get comfortable with everything – hell, he’s scared shitless – but he’s never been more willing to try something than he is now. If the reward is to wake up every morning next to a smile like _this one_ , then it’s undeniably worth the fight.

 

* * *

 

Things go surprisingly well, after that. The cataclysm Marcus was expecting never happens. The sky never falls upon their heads. They keep traveling, from big towns to sometimes smaller ones, wherever the wind – and Bennett – takes them, and it just feels _right_.

Demons still try to take advantage of them being soulmates, but it never works. There’s no doubt nor shame in their feelings, no anger from the past, no self-hatred. Everything was forgiven in the hope of building a better future. A future still centered around sending demons back to Hell, but a future in which they do it together, as partners; not only in their job, but in their lives.

It’s been a few weeks now, and Marcus is starting to realize how much stronger they’ve grown. He’s still as paranoid as before when Tomas uses his gift, but he doesn’t try to fight it anymore. Instead, he holds his hand, allows himself to leave a chaste kiss on his lips as a gesture of comfort, of reassurance; and stays by his side as Tomas’ eyes roll into the back of his head and go white.

When Tomas comes back to his senses, comes back to Marcus – he always does – Marcus smiles and holds him tight, whispering words of relief into his ear. _It’s okay, love, it’s okay, I’ve got you_. _You’re home_.

Later, in the darkness of their bedroom, Marcus shows him exactly how much he cares; how much he suffers when they’re apart, and how grateful he is when they are brought back together; when Tomas finds his way back into his arms.

When they reach completion, nothing needs to be said; everything has already been shown.

“Do you think it’s God who sent me to you?” Tomas asks, one day, and Marcus can’t help but let his mind wander once again. Perhaps he was so stubborn that the only way to bring him to his soulmate was for God to step in. The thought certainly is funny, and he doesn’t hesitate to share it with Tomas, who replies with a laugh and a soft, happy kiss pressed against Marcus’ jaw.

 

* * *

 

When Marcus wakes up early in the following morning, Tomas is still fast asleep. His warm and naked body is draped all over him, and he almost laugh at the sight.

It’s almost as if now that Tomas knows Marcus is his soulmate, he doesn’t want to be away from him; wants to be as physically close as possible, even in his sleep. He has a leg thrown over Marcus’; an arm wrapped around the older man’s waist, and he suddenly squeezes his body a bit in his sleep. It’s such an adorable picture Marcus almost feels guilty for moving.

As best as he can with Tomas’ body around him, Marcus reaches for a pencil on the nightstand. He writes a few random words on his neck and collarbone, and wonders if he will ever get used to seeing them appear on Tomas’ skin. _This human being was made just for you, and you were made for him._

The more he looks at him, the more he truly understands what it means. Tomas Ortega, his _soulmate_. He’s Marcus’; and Marcus belongs to him.

With those thoughts in mind, he starts drawing on his thigh. It’s something he’s grown used to doing, mostly because he loves to see the amazement on Tomas’ face when he wakes up with a tree drawn on his thigh, or a bird across his hip bone.

They often leave small notes for each other as they get familiar with the concept. Unsurprisingly, it takes a little bit longer for Marcus to get accustomed to it, while Tomas almost instantly starts writing and drawing nonsense on his skin and Marcus can only watch with a fond smile on his face.

He’s still far from being an artist, that’s undeniable, but Marcus sometimes recognizes the same artistic style than the one he used to see on his skin years ago. And by comparing it to what he remembers, he sees progress, something Tomas enjoys hearing whenever Marcus decides to share his thoughts. _Of course he does, it’s praise_ , Marcus thinks with a grin.

There’s no denying how much he loves marking Tomas’ skin, and it’s clear the feeling is mutual. Marcus is too far gone, and he knows how deep Tomas has fallen alongside him.

It’s obvious, in the way they touch each other after narrowly escaping death, holding their trembling bodies tightly and refusing to let go until the threat is nothing but a painful memory.

It’s obvious, in the way Tomas writes little love letters on his skin then stares at Marcus with a blush; waiting for him to notice.

It’s obvious, in the way Tomas kisses him goodnight and greets him in the morning with either gentle words or with his hands mapping every inch of Marcus’ body, while showing him how much he can express his love with his mouth alone.

It’s obvious, in almost everything they do.

 _If you weren’t my soulmate_ , Marcus thinks one day as he stares at Tomas’ words inked along his collarbone – the ghostly touch of a lover he couldn’t be happier he met – _I still would have wished for it to be you_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is. The first fic I've ever finished. It's only three chapters but it's the longest thing I've ever written, I hope you all enjoyed it! I would like to once again thank Lauren for beta-reading most of my fic, your help has been really precious to me ❤️


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